iv.
They hear the stadium before they see it.
The week of Opening Ceremonies draws crowds from all over Galar, clogging the streets of Motostoke like the black smog that pours from the city’s smokestacks. Sonia leads Leon along by the hand so he doesn’t get lost, weaving in and out of the throng of spectators and following the roar of the stadium’s speakers. He bumbles along behind her, starry-eyed and gravitating toward every vendor they come across.
The lift carries them to the upper sector of the city, where the stadium sprawls before them. Registration is a whirlwind of making lodging accommodations, distributing customized jerseys, and logging their pokemon in the system. It’s overwhelming, but she holds fast to Leon’s hand and lets him take the lead, smiling and laughing and mingling with the rest of the contestants. She only hopes he doesn’t mind, but if he does, he doesn’t let on.
They’re forced to separate when the ceremony is about to begin, filed into locker rooms to change, then asked to line up by the numbers on their jerseys during the procession. Leon, having registered early enough to snag the coveted number one, will be amongst those leading the charge. He withdraws his hand reluctantly, flashing a huge grin at her and promising to catch her afterward.
She feels small, surrounded by hundreds of other contestants. They march as a unit through a tunnel beneath stands, and with every step she finds herself growing more and more anxious. The thought of being on display for all of Galar makes her dig her heels into the ground, stopping just short of the spotlight. She takes a step back, and is shouldered aside by one of the much older contestants. Self-doubt starts swirling in her chest like a storm, and she struggles to take a full breath.
A warm, steady hand slides in hers. She looks up at Leon, shocked to see him out of formation, and he shrugs. “Being up front is cool, but I wouldn’t even be here without you. You ready for this?”
He squeezes her hand, and they step onto the turf together.
-----------
“What do you think? Too skimpy?”
Nessa doesn’t even look up from her phone. She’s laying belly down on the bed, ankles crossed behind her. “You realize you’re talking to someone who shows up to work every day in a bikini, yeah?”
Sonia purses her lips, hiking the gown and stepping further into the hotel room light, twirling in front of the floor length mirror. Runs her hands down her torso and over her hips to smooth the shimmery teal fabric, adjusts the plunging v, flares out the hem, admires the open back. It’s only when she makes a pleased little “hmph” that Nessa lays her phone down on the bed and wolf whistles. “Shit, Sonia, when’d you pick up
that little number?”
“Online sale,” she says, idly twirling her hair back into a tight ringlet. “You don’t think the sequins are a bit much?”
“Definitely not,” Nessa purrs, sliding off the bed to admire it up close. “You’re going to absolutely slay Lee.”
Sonia can’t quite fight off a smirk. “Mm. I’m more concerned with not looking like a troll next to you.”
Nessa scoffs, already digging through her things that’ve been scattered haphazardly across the vanity. She retrieves a glittering diamond choker that nearly makes Sonia balk -- it’s got to be extremely expensive, even though it was probably a gift from Nessa’s sponsors -- and fastens it around her neck. She sweeps Sonia’s hair over one shoulder and narrows her eyes, clearly pleased with the adjustment, and winks coyly. “In a dress like that, you might stand a fighting chance.”
It’s a generous statement.
They spend all day lounging around the hotel room, swapping jewelry and shoes and stories, laughing until Sonia’s stomach hurts, and helping each other with makeup and hair. She’s missed this, she realizes, and it makes her heart feel full and empty simultaneously. Nessa and Raihan are always busy with their gyms and modeling, Leon’s the unbeatable champion and damn near inescapable as his face is plastered on everything across the region, and her?
She’s the disappointing lab assistant.
It’s hard to dwell on it though. Not when she’s having this much fun. Not when she feels like a goddamn mermaid, even next to Nessa in her intricate designer gown.
The feeling doesn’t resurface until they reach the gala.
Nessa squeezes her hand and winks as she flounces over to the other half of Galar’s hottest item. Raihan managed to put on a proper tux for once, looks like. He tucks Nessa under his arm roughly in a hug, hand resting on her hip, and the other waving Sonia over. Her stomach clenches, but her expression remains smooth and polished as porcelain.
“I see Nessa finally dragged you out of that stuffy ol’ lab!” he booms, eyes glittering with mischief. His breath is already sharp with alcohol. “How’ve ya been?”
“I’ll be better once I locate the bar. Seems you’re well acquainted with it already this evening.”
He howls his laughter, clapping her on the shoulder. His teeth gleam like the fangs of his dragons as he grins at her, “Cheers to that, mate. Put it on my tab, we’re celebrating tonight!”
“Celebrating?” Nessa asks, poking him in the side. “Didn’t you just have your ass handed to you in your exhibition match?”
“Bugger off, Nessie,” he slurs, palming her face and gently shoving her aside. “That match is old news. I’m talking about my new sponsorship I just scored!”
“Oh love,” Nessa tuts, pulling up her phone to burst his bubble, “you wanna talk sponsors...”
Raihan swipes the phone from her, tucking it in his breastpocket and laughing as she struggles to reach for it. Even in stilettos, she’s no match for his height. His laughter is like rolling thunder, volume amplified in the ornate ballroom. It sends shockwaves through the more civilized guests, drawing stares their way. He's always known how to draw attention to himself, good or bad.
Nessa tries to shush him through her giggles, which only eggs him on. Finally she grabs his lapels and yanks him downward, back to earth, shutting him up by kissing the breath out of him. When they finally come back up for air, Nessa has successfully retrieved her phone -- and Sonia is halfway to the bar.
Classical music filters through the din of people mixing and mingling, courtesy of the string quartet near the stage. She orders a double martini, and when she asks to put it on Raihan’s tab the barkeep snorts. “Open bar, miss.”
Her mouth twitches into something resembling a grin. She should’ve known, cheeky little shit. “Then a single will do for now.”
She watches Nessa and Raihan from across the room, oblivious to her absence. There should only be room for joy when she sees how happy they are -- joy that they’ve found each other, that they’re thriving personally and professionally. Nessa’s her best friend, and Raihan’s a well-meaning doof at worst. She loves the hell out of them both.
But something ugly, something she’s not proud of, coils in her gut.
She intends to drown it with alcohol.
Sonia’s polishing off her second martini when Rose takes the stage, and her lip involuntarily curls. His white tux is accented with a single red rose in his breastpocket, and she chooses to focus on that when he speaks -- not on his perfectly coiffed hair, the flourish of his hands, or the way everyone else in the room hangs on his every word.
The second he introduces the champion and Leon takes the stage, everyone is drawn to them like a magnet. She hooks her heel on the bar stool, anchoring herself there as she takes a gulp of her drink, and glances around to see if anyone else is immune to their pull.
She’s surprised to see Hop, of all people, slumped on a couch with a scowl that must match hers.
Curious.
She follows his glare across the ballroom to where Leon and the chairman are conversing, and -- oh, that was a mistake. Leon catches her watching, and she finds herself subconsciously straightening her posture, batting her lashes longingly. At her drink. She holds it up as if to inspect it, the center of her attention and affection, the only thing that can quench her thirst.
She’s never been the most convincing liar.
It takes him a while to get to her, wading through a throng of admirers seeking his attention or an autograph, but when he says hello, his voice sounds breathy and weak. It only serves to fuel her, and she crosses her legs daintily. “Good evening, Leon.”
“I’m so glad you decided to come, Sonia,” he says, settling into the stool next to hers. He doesn’t move to order a drink -- instead drinks her in -- eyes skimming her in a way that leaves her warm and tingling. And maybe a little smug. “You look absolutely ravishing.”
“Thank you.” She runs her tongue across the inside of her lip, hazarding a glance at his getup. Maroon suit coat with gold buttons, white silk jabot, tan pants tucked into sleek black riding boots and of course... “You almost manage to pull off a cape with a suit.”
He exhales a laugh through his nose, shaking his head. “Rose insisted. Makes the sponsors happy and all.” He tugs at the faux fur that lines the nape of his neck. “I normally don’t mind, but it’s rather hot in here.”
Sonia raises an eyebrow. “Oh?”
“Too many people,” he says quickly. Clears his throat, leans with his back against the bar and rests his elbows on the counter. “Good turnout this year, for the challenge.”
She decides to take pity on him, and go along with his not-so-subtle redirect. “Helps that you’ve got a larger sample size, since Rose insists on cradle-robbing. I imagine half’ll drop out before Kabu.”
“Maybe so,” he muses. After a beat he stands, turns and bows his head, extending his hand for her to take. “What say we join our friends, hm?”
The grand gesture is meant to be overblown and silly, but she can’t help but wonder if Rose’s egregious ways haven’t begun to rub off on him. Sonia takes his gloved hand in both of hers, patting it gently to decline. She is very aware of all eyes on her -- every admirer in the room must be wondering if she’s off her rocker for rejecting him. “I’ll catch up with you lot soon. There’s something I need to do first.”
If Leon’s hurt, he doesn’t let it show. Takes it in stride with a charming, too-perfect smile. It makes her stomach clench -- Rose must’ve found that chipped lower tooth of his unsightly and sprung for veneers. She hates him for it. It’s like he’s picked apart everything she once loved about the man in front of her and polished it beyond recognition.
But it’s still Leon who winks and squeezes her hand. “Save a dance for me, will you?”
She smiles serenely, and flags the barkeep. “But of course.”
and of course Magnolia just fuckin carks it for the night to leave her to her anxieties. Classic.
I will happily write that extra for you at some point hehe. 
You know you love her, Leon.